Morn Anew.

sometimes, sometimes,
the world is blue,
hands are cold
and the pathways dark.
often it is the gloomy sky
a terrain filled with screams and cries.
then again it can be
just one man standing,
watching it all,
yet not moving a step.
it is his fault
and no one else’s,
for the moment he froze
all colors paled.
his emotions were
the source of life,
taken away from him
what remained was a rusk.
nothing comes of
unattempted dreams;
keep walking,
keep getting hurt, since
this world is but
a moving ball;
today’s night
is tomorrow’s morn…

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